


Call Me When You Get There

by notfreyja, Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - First Contact, Documentary, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notfreyja/pseuds/notfreyja, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: The year is 2267. First Contact happened six months ago. At least, that's what the authorities would have the world believe. The truth is, first contact happened over ten years ago in a little town called Riverside, Iowa.





	1. Prologue

_ “So what can you tell me about Mr. Spock?” _

 

_ The old man smiles at the camera, then looks at the interviewer with thinly veiled excitement. “Is this really going to be on television?” _

 

_ “Yes. sir.” _

 

_ “Well, then, Mr. Spock and Miss T’Pring are lovely people. A little peculiar, perhaps, but polite, hardworking, and always willing to lend a hand with the local scouts…” _

 

_ The image cuts to an elderly woman in a rocking chair on a porch. She rocks slowly, not even acknowledging that the camera exists as she sips her iced tea. _

 

_ “Tell me what it was like.” _

 

_ “What what was like, boy?” _

 

_ “When they first landed.” _

 

_ “How the hell should I know? I didn’t meet the folks for a few weeks.” _

 

_ The interviewer gives a poorly concealed sigh. “The what was it like around town, then? Once people knew?” _

 

_ “Same as it always was.” _

 

_ The boy’s eyes widen. “Is that so?” _

 

_ “Mmm-hmm. Jimmy Kirk’s always run with an odd crowd. It took a little for us to get at exactly how odd these two were, but it didn’t matter in the end. They're good folk. Polite.” She says the last word as if that settles the matter. _

 

_ “So it didn’t bother you at all?” _

 

_ The old woman gives a slight shrug. “Everyone has their peculiarities. As long as it don’t get in the way of my life, I ain’t getting in the way o’ theirs.” _

 

_ “That’s very logical of you, ma’am.” _

 

_ She huffs a quiet little laugh. _

 

_ “Something funny?” _

 

_ “That’s what he said. The alien.” _

 

__ \- Excerpt from “Call Me When You Get There: The True Story Of First Contact.” _ _

 

  
  


_ “Mr. T— Tashshin— Mr. Tashintaga— Mr. Spock? This is Ms. Rand, from Immigration. I’m sorry to bother you, but there seems to be some discrepancies with your paperwork. I’m going to need you to come back in. Call me back to schedule an appointment.” _

 

__ -From the phone records of Janice Rand, United States Immigration. _ _

 

 


	2. Aliens Landed in My Field - And They're Hot

_ “Describe how you met Mr. Spock.” _

 

_ “He showed up in my cornfield.” _

 

_ “... Really?” _

 

_ “Oh yeah. Somethin’ startled the crows out of the field, and I figured it was either some kids that needed scarin’ off, or somebody worth thankin’. As it happens, it was neither. Spock and T’Pring crashin’ lost me a good three acres a’crops, and that almost cost the farm.” _

 

_ “Worked out for you in the end though, didn’t it, Mr. Kirk?” _

 

_ “Yeah, you could say that.” _

 

-Excerpt from “Call Me When You Get There: The True Story of First Contact.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Hey, Bonesy.”

 

“Hey Jim, how’re you?”

 

“Not so bad, an’ you?”

 

“Fair to middlin’.” The doctor takes his usual seat on the porch, nodding in thanks when Jim reaches into the cooler and digs out a beer. “Long day?”

 

“The usual. How was the office?”

 

“Missus Green down the road had her first baby. Boy’s daddy was there and everything.”

 

“Mister Green’s in town?”

 

“He is not.”

 

Jim’s face breaks into a smile.

 

“God damn, Bones, I don’t think you can say stuff like that,” he says.

 

Leonard huffs a laugh.

 

“I can say whatever I damn please,” he says. “The whole town knows Big Rich has been been makin’ moon eyes at Janette since they were in high school, and she ain’t never told him no. It’s only that city boy who don’t know it.”

 

“That’s the problem with city folk,” Jim agrees. “Can’t see what’s right in front of ‘em.”

 

“Damn right.”

 

They settle into a comfortable silence, tucking into cheap beer and enjoying the sunset. It’s almost harvest time, Jim can feel it in the air. Soon, there’ll be no time for evenings like these, no energy for it either, so he may as well enjoy it while he can.

 

Too bad that’s not a part of God’s plan tonight.

 

“What the hell’s that?”

 

The entire house rattles with the force of something falling— crashing, it’s crashing— into the east field. Jim’s on his feet in a moment, Bones just behind, one hand shading against the setting sun. He see smoke, maybe fire.

 

“Shit!”

 

“I’ll turn on the sprinklers,” Bones says. “Don’t go runnin’ in there without protection— Jim, you asshole, don’t—”

 

Jim doesn’t hear whatever it is Leonard tried to warn him not to do. He’s already in the corn.

 

The lip of the crater— and there is a crater, cutting off a rather fantastic skid mark in the dirt— takes Jim by surprise, though there is a sort of relief that comes with it. A cornfield burning so close to harvest is a problem. A dirt bowl full of fire in a cornfield is also a problem, but possibly a more manageable one.

 

“What the fuck—?” It’s a meteor, maybe? Yeah, that would make sense, except meteors don’t have windows, nor do they hiss when the doors pop open like a goddamn Delorean, revealing a… guy. A hot guy.

 

Who’s bleeding green. Okay, then.

 

“Sir, we are in need of assistance,” the man says, teeth gritted in pain. “We were injured during our landing—”

 

“You crashed, is what you did,” Jim says, but he’s already sliding into the crater and shoving a shoulder under the guy’s arm. “Jesus. An alien crashed in my cornfield. Is this an episode of the X-Files? Did somebody not inform me they were filming a drama in my backyard again?”

 

“I do not understand those words in the context in which you are using them,” the man says, and damn, for an alien? His grammar is  _ fantastic _ . A-plus, Mr. Alien. “My co-pilot, she is injured as well.”

 

“Wait, lemme just get you out of the goddamn hole, okay? Then I’ll get her.”

 

“You do not understand, her hand—”

 

“Listen, E.T., you’re bleeding green goop on foreign soil. Your lucky if I don’t call my friends at MIB, got it?”

 

“I do not understand—” He grunts when Jim drops him under the corn, face contorting with pain. Jim slaps him on the shoulder.

 

“Stay here, alright? I’ll get your friend out, I promise.” Jim gives him his best smile, the one he uses when he starts fights and attempts to jump cars over ravines. Hey, what can he say? There’s corn on fire and a spaceship and fuck, what actually is his life?

 

The spaceship is… well, Jim doesn’t really know. He doesn’t get much of a look, considering the thing is fast filling with billowing black smoke and there’s a lady buckled into the passenger’s seat, unconscious and bleeding the same weird blood as the other guy. Her hand— oh, God, her hand— is wedged between two pieces of metal, and based on the way her blood is oozing out from between the panels, it’s… it’s not good.

 

The metal is slick, but Jim manages to pry it apart just enough to let her hand slide out and hang loosely by her side. Her arm might be dislocated, possibly broken, but Jim’s not the doctor here. The doctor’s at the house.

 

He needs to get them to the house.

 

“I’m taking her first!” he shouts to the alien guy when he drags her out of the ship. “I’ll come back for you!”

 

The sprinklers are on now, and the wet does nothing for the alien’s singed state.

 

“We will not be separated,” he says, trying to force himself to his feet as Jim climbs up the loose dirt. “We will not—”

 

“Dude, it’s alright,” Jim says, catching the man by his wrist. “The sprinklers are on, the fire’s gonna die. So will your friend, if you don’t let me take her!”

 

Something in the alien’s demeanor changes when Jim touches him. He stiffens even more, eyes searching Jim’s face for a trace of a lie. His own fingers wrap around Jim’s arm, just under the sleeve of his t-shirt, and… and nothing.

 

The alien lets go.

 

“Her name is T’Pring,” he says. “Be careful of her hand. It is a delicate instrument, vital to her survival.”

 

So, the aliens have freaky things with their hands. That’s what Jim’s getting.

 

“Got it,” he says. “I’ll be back. Ten minutes, tops.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Bones, you need to fix her!”

 

“What the— Jim, she’s bleeding green!”

 

“Not important— you need to fix her hand, _ that’s _ important.”

 

“Important how?”

 

“How the fuck should I know, I’m not an alien— just do it! I’ve gotta go back.”

 

“For what?”

  
“For the other guy!”


End file.
